30 Wounds
by AthenAltena
Summary: 30 stories of Triela and Hillshire as they work through their individual wounds, both physical and emotional, while learning to work together and stay alive.
1. It's just a flesh wound

Written for the LJ 30wounds fanfic challenge, will updated in approximate order of completion.

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1. It's just a flesh wound

After one of their first missions Triela had been acting strangely. It wasn't so much her temperament – back then it ranged from bad to worse on a good day – but rather, it was her body language that really made him suspicious. It took him a while to pin it down, but he finally figured it out after she held all three of the shopping bags in her left hand, despite the cumbersome burden they presented. He waited until they were in a deserted alley before turning briskly around on his heel to face her.

"Let me see your hand."

He got only a glare that could freeze water in response. He held it, and finally she bit her lip and turned away.

"It's no big deal."

"Let me see it."

Seeming to realize that she was on the losing side of this argument, Triela withdrew her hand from her coat pocket and presented it to him glumly, her gaze downcast. He watched her face for a moment before turning to the task at hand. Sure enough, there was a thin trickle of blood running into her sleeve from the palm of her hand.

"What happened?"

He saw her hesitate, but with a resigned sigh she withdrew her hand and shoved it firmly back into her pocket.

"Perp had a knife. I caught it."

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

He took a breath, torn between feeling concerned and annoyed, finally settling somewhere in between.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's no big deal." She said stubbornly, pointedly avoiding his gaze. The way she squared her shoulders and parted her feet slightly made something click in his mind. She thought he wouldn't care.

Well, he'd just have to show her, then.

Without missing a beat he withdrew the handkerchief from his pocket and knelt in front of her, taking advantage of her surprise in order to snatch her hand and wrap the cloth firmly around it, putting just enough pressure to make her wince.

After he finished tying the knot he met her eyes, noting the genuine surprise on her face. This was the first time they'd ever been at eye level before with their height difference, but if Hillshire had his way it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

He rose to his feet and turned around briskly, taking a few steps before he paused and looked over his shoulder to where she still stood, surprised and bewildered.

"You coming?"

She did, with a noticeable spring in her step.


	2. Sharp Tongue

2. Sharp tongue

Triela had a bit of an attitude. Even if one knew nothing about the Agency and what had been done with her it became obvious in the first five minutes that she was no pushover, not to mention the fact that she could flip a fully-grown man and barely break a sweat. Over time the attitude had disappeared as she'd gotten used to both him and the Agency, but it was still quite obvious to Hillshire that she had just redirected it at him.

He couldn't help but feel a bit envious Giuseppe and Jean at times, for while they had a naive little sister replacement and a creepily obedient slave hanging on their every word, he had Little Miss Capable. And worse, she _knew_ it.

But to be fair, it wasn't always a problem. After all, having Triela think for herself had certainly saved him a lot of headaches when it came to keeping her out of trouble and spared him the pain of over-conditioning her. Whatever trouble she got into she usually settled with her characteristic efficiency, and certainly she seemed to take pleasure in reminding him that she would and could take care of herself whenever she was able.

She wasn't exactly abrasive around other people, but she had a certain way with words around him that he supposed was some sort of affection in the form of friendly antagonism. He'd seen it happen with the military types often enough that he took it as a positive rather than a negative.

But that was _before_ Pinocchio. In the weeks afterward her usual sharpness was notably dulled, and he could tell that her pride had been injured. The day after they left special training she required quite a bit of ice for the bruises, but he could see that something had returned to her eyes.

He got confirmation of this as she was leaving to go to bed and shot him a grin over her shoulder.

"That Pinocchio," she said casually. "I'll not only cut his strings – I'll tie him up with them, next time we meet."

Yup, he though fondly. She was back.


	3. This hurts me more than it hurts you

12. 'This hurts me more than it hurts you'

"Triela! _Triela!_"

She opened her eyes at the sound of Hillshire's voice, only to quickly shut them again as a blinding white light assaulted her senses. He was close, but not close enough to see.

"Here." She gasped, attempting to sit up and feeling an immediate pang of pain from her back. Given the sudden influx of stench she presumed she'd fallen somewhere in garbage and been knocked out, though how exactly she'd ended up here was another question. She'd been chasing them on the roof, slipped, and…

_Fuck._

Hillshire finally came into view at the end of the alley, two Special Ops guys tailing him. His face relaxed visibly in relief at the sight of her, covered in garbage as she was, but otherwise unharmed.

"What happened?" She asked, picking a banana peel off of her shoulder. Why did these things always have banana peels?

"Looks like you slipped." Hillshire replied, deadpan as always. "Makes sense, since there's still water from last night's rain up there." He sighed wiped his forehead. "You weren't out for long, though, so the perp should still be in the general area."

She nodded quickly, preparing to push herself up.

"That's good. Just let me find my gun and – _AGH!_"

The Special Ops guys visibly jumped at her scream of pain, while Hillshire, cool as always, merely widened his eyes in horror. With a growing feeling of dread Triela looked down at her right leg and saw it twisted under her at a completely unnatural angle.

"Damn it…" she muttered, flexing it experimentally and wincing. Sure enough, it was broken near the knee, though the bone had somehow stayed in place until she attempted to move. Gritting her teeth, she reached down and took hold of her thigh as she mentally prepared for what she had to do next.

"What are you do –?" she heard the beginning of Hillshire's nervous inquiry, and without moment's hesitation she pushed – hard – and was rewarded with a _crack_ as the cybernetic bone reset itself. It wasn't a permanent fix, but it would do until she could get it properly taken care of.

By the time Hillshire and the Special Ops guys had realized what she'd done she was already on her feet and rummaging for her gun in the garbage.

"C'mon, let's catch this bastard." she grunted, wiping the last bit of fruit residue and sweat from her brow. She'd definitely need a shower tonight. Ignoring the dull throb in her leg she set off at a brisk walk past her shocked Handler. She could deal with him later – probably not without a reprimand, but it was doable. The Special Ops guys were visibly bewildered, staring at her slack-jawed as she rounded the corner.

She didn't get it. After all, it was just a little pain.


	4. Hospital

10. Hospital

Despite – or perhaps because – of all the time he'd spent in hospitals, Hillshire had grown to hate them. He hated everything about them, from the fluorescent lights to the sanitized alcohol smell to the bottom-of-the-pot coffee.

Here he was again on a bench outside the operating room, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the "In Surgery" sign, willing it to go out and for Triela to come back in one piece. It had been a fairly nasty shootout, seven perps, and Triela had taken at least three hits in non-vital parts of her body. He'd gone through this enough times to know that she'd be alright in a matter of hours, but something else grated on him.

It was those Special Ops guys. Even as Triela was being loaded into the ambulance they'd been laughing and joking in the nervous way men do after realizing that it could have just as easily been them on that gurney, though there wasn't that usually glassy-eyed shock when it was one of their own men. It had really hit him when one of them had turned to his buddy, all smiles and elbows, and muttered something he thought Hillshire hadn't heard.

"Girl's beat up bad, but at least it ain't one of us, eh?"

The other one nodded, hefting his rifle slightly.

"Yeah, but man… did you see how she shrugged off those bullets? Like they were frickin' mosquito bites, I tell you! Those cyborgs are amazing!"

Those cyborgs. It was common enough jargon among the military types, but just then it had hit a nerve in Hillshire that was still buzzing several hours later. Those cyborgs, the ones the military types sent in whenever there was the threat of real danger. Got a problem that puts too many of the normal guys in danger? Send in a cyborg. Simple as that. He could see easily enough why they thought that way. After all, from their perspective one of the girls would be shot up, carted off to someone magical mechanic and by next week be none the worse for the wear.

What they didn't see was this: the Handler sitting outside the operating room with half a dozen cups of coffee in his system to keep him awake, just so he could be the first thing Triela saw when she finally opened her eyes. Every now and then he would imagine dragging some of those Special Ops guys here on their days off to sit here for seven hours waiting for a light to go off and see if they'd think about "the cyborgs" the same way.

Just then, the light clicked off, and Hillshire rose to his feet. It would still be a while until the anesthetic left her system, but it was never too early to find another bear for her collection while she was recovering.


	5. Papercut

28. Papercut

"Shit."

Hillshire looked over at Triela and frowned. She was sucking lightly on her thumb, an annoyed expression on her face.

"Where'd you learn language like that?"

"You seen who we work with?" She said, totally blasé, not even bothering to look up at him.

He huffed lightly and leaned back in his chair. She was right, unfortunately, and more than a few of the combat types had been warned about their language around the girls. Of course, they just learned to not swear when the Handlers were around, tricky bastards that they were. And knowing her there was a certain amount of intention when it came to doing it around him.

She muttered something to herself and got up to move towards the door.

"Where you doing?" He inquired, twisting in his seat and frowning.

"Band-Aid." She said with that same nonchalant tone. "You ever had one of these? These things sting like a mother –"

"Hey." Hillshire interrupted. "Watch it, young lady." He shook his finger at her with just a touch of sarcasm. She merely smiled in that way of hers and moved out the door into the hall.

After she was gone he sighed and leaned back, letting his eyes close briefly before opening them again. His gaze drifted to the book she'd been reading, and, on the edge of the page, the red smear of her blood.

His eyes stayed on it until he forced himself to look away. Seeing that a mere piece of paper could hurt her stung more than he would have expected.

--

Note: Triela does actually swear in volume 1 when Mario escapes, and I merely extrapolated off of that.


	6. Stabbed in the Back

24. Stabbed in the back

"Just relax, this'll be over in a few minutes."

Triela sighed, the first pangs of a headache beginning to creep into her temples. Whether the cause was an effect of the drug they'd just given her or a change in atmosphere was unknown to her, but hopefully unlike everything else so far in this test this part would actually be over soon.

She shot a glance over at the female doctor standing in the doorway, noting how the stern expression that was Hillshire's trademark and made him look serious and dedicated only made her look sour and moody. The woman reached up and touched her glasses – probably a habit – before glancing down her nose at Triela.

"All right," she said condescendingly. "Just find and dispatch the target and come back. You're being timed, so don't take _too_ long."

Triela suppressed a grumble and strode forward, flipping off the safety on the assault rifle hanging from her shoulder. She'd just have to show _her_ what she could do on a timer.

She found the target and quickly dispatched him with two bullets to the chest, all silenced. As she exited the room it suddenly struck her that this was too easy – way too easy. Surely there must be some catch…

She found the answer quickly enough. The layout of the building hadn't given her any reason to pay much attention to it, but now that she could see a line of a dozen black-clad Nuns and several children deep in prayer on the opposite side of the courtyard she realized that this must be some sort of cloister.

She frowned and vaguely wondered if this was some sort of sick joke.

As she watched them something clicked in her head, and before she knew it her arm was raising the gun as she fingered the trigger. Cold panic suddenly gripped her as she realized what was about to happen.

_No, no, NO!_

Triela had never really understood the phrase "seeing red" but that was the only way to describe what was happening. It was as if she were watching from behind a red curtain as the people were systematically mowed down by a gun in an arm that didn't seem to belong to her. A few of the children ran and screamed, but more often than not they simply crumpled where they stood in a pile of black cloth and limbs.

"No! No! No!" she heard herself screaming through burning tears. "Stop me! Somebody _stop me_!"

She became dimly aware of someone shouting in the background over the severe _rat tat tat_ of the gun as it continued to empty its contents into those who had already fallen.

"Stop the simulation! Stop it _now _damn it!"

Hillshire. She shut her eyes and prayed that the clip would run out soon before something stuck into her arm. Finally she heard the dull _thunk_ that signaled that the magazine was out of ammunition and slumped forward, sobbing, as she suddenly found herself unable to lift her limbs more than a few inches as the tranquilizer took effect.

Fluorescent light suddenly assaulted her eyes as Hillshire ripped the virtual headset off of her.

"Jesus... It's alright." He said soothingly as she clung onto him. "It was just a simulation. None of that was real. It's alright. Calm down."

He whipped around towards the female scientist, her expression unchanged despite the virtual carnage she'd just witnessed.

"What in the holy _fuck_ was that?!" he hissed as he cradled Triela's head against his shoulder.

She merely pushed her glasses up and stared at him with a look of utter indifference.

"A discriminatory test. We weren't sure if the drug affected the judgment center of the brain enough to make any real difference in the field. Turns out it _was_ important, as the drug overrode her conscious instinct not to shoot the non-designated targets." She clucked her tongue and scribbled something in her notes. "Looks like we need to do more research."

"I can see that with my own damn eyes!" Hillshire snapped, lifting Triela bodily out of the egg-like simulation chamber. "Why didn't you tell us about that – that _trap_ you had planned for her?"

"If she knew there'd be a variable she _couldn't_ shoot at it wouldn't be a proper test of the full effects, would it?" The woman said flatly. "So we had to make it blind to properly observe it. It's standard scientific procedure, Mr. Hillshire."

Hillshire narrowed his eyes and tried to repress his seething anger. He could feel both Triela's tears through his shirt and her quiet sobbing against his chest. Deciding to put it off until later, he set off at a brisk pace towards the exit.

"And just where are you going?" the woman asked incredulously. He shot her a glare over his shoulder as the door hissed open.

"Home." He held Triela a bit closer. "And expect to receive a letter from my boss about this 'test' of yours. _This_ –" he motioned with his head towards Triela's sobbing form. "Was _not_ part of the deal."

And with that he strode out into the hallway, her sobs echoed by the lifeless concrete on all sides. He stared straight ahead, a combination of disgust and hatred settling deep in his chest. If he had his way Medea Industries would never do business with the SWA again.


	7. Will to live

25. Will to live

Her universe consisted of nothing but pain.

There was blood all around her and inside her, enough that she thought she would drown in all of it. Something was terribly wrong with her hand, but she couldn't even lift her head to see. She didn't want to see.

It was hard even to breathe, as if something had crushed her lungs. There was blood in them too, in her mouth. It hurt to be alive, but something told her that the cold darkness just beyond that was even worse. She couldn't stay here, but what choice did she have?

A light and a voice, at first soft, then desperate. A soft smell of perfume. Something forcing the blood from her lungs and filling her with air. She could make it. She could breathe.

A male voice, screaming for someone. She opened her eyes and saw, just barely, the outline of a man's face. She made out the desperate look in his eyes and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was crying.

_I don't want to see him sad._ She thought as something closed over her head like a wave. _He's too sad already, I won't do that to him. I won't die._

And then she thought no more of it. The memory faded away into some dark recess of her mind behind walls and barriers that only fell when she slept, but it was always there somewhere.

She woke up with tears in her eyes, the memory already retreating and leaving only the wetness on her face as evidence that it had been there. She glanced over and spotted him dozing against the steering wheel, his gun in his lap.

She rubbed her eyes and sat back, watching him for a moment. She felt as if the dream had something to do with him, but it was too far gone already to recall exactly what it had been.

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard and shivered in the chilly autumn air. Two more hours to go. She glanced over at him then, and, for a reason she couldn't quite fathom, pulled his jacket higher on his shoulders.


	8. Black and blue

9. Black and blue

They were halfway through their two weeks with the Special Forces when Hillshire noticed something odd about the way Triela was moving. It was only to be expected given the sort of treatment she'd been receiving, but something about it struck him as especially troubling.

The room they'd been given was nice by t barracks standards, but that didn't mean much in the context of the decrepit conditions the military had to put up with after so much of the money intended for them had poured into special agencies – topmost among them, the SWA. Hillshire was well aware of this, and made a point not to give the soldiers any more trouble than necessary. He'd been on the short end of the stick enough in his pre-SWA days to know how tempting it was to stick your leg out and trip one of the spoiled bastards if given just the right trigger.

But nonetheless, at least for Triela's sake he was thankful that they had hot water whenever they needed it. Given the amount of training she was receiving on a strictly scheduled basis it was the closest to actual physical comfort as she would get, and despite his agreement to participate in this Hillshire didn't believe that completely Spartan conditions did much in the long run.

That night she came in and went straight to the shower as usual, barely acknowledging Hillshire's presence as she shut the door and quickly filled the room with steam. He made a point to glance up occasionally and make sure that there were still signs of life in there – the combination of physical strain and heat had been known to make grown men pass out – but otherwise left her alone.

After about ten minutes she came out, still sopping wet, and strode purposefully over to her designated area of the singular desk in the room. She rummaged around for a few moments and finally made a small noise of victory upon finding her hairbrush, at which point she turned on her heel and walked back into the bathroom with it clutched firmly in hand.

This entire time Hillshire had been purposefully keeping his eyes glued to the report he was reading. He didn't want to risk her not wearing a towel, something she'd been occasionally known to do when they were forced to live in close quarters. The fact that he usually stayed quiet didn't help, as she'd been known to forget he was even there until something uncomfortable occurred.

Nonetheless he couldn't completely block out his periphery vision, and what he did see included an oddly-colored area on her back. He'd seen plenty of bruises during his time in the field, but this struck him as odd. He bit his lip and turned back to his report, deciding to investigate later after Triela had freshened up.

He got his chance at dinner, after the soldiers had left the mess hall to go to a briefing they were not privy to. Triela's appetite had luckily not suffered as a result of the training – if anything, it had increased, though Hillshire had his suspicions that she was intentionally eating more to boost her strength. The speed with which she had polished off the mashed potatoes had surpassed that of even the soldiers, which, considering that most of them were at least twice Triela's size and four times her weight was saying something.

"Your back," he began, taking advantage of a moment when she was fully engaged in devouring the slightly-too-salty beef stew, therefore preventing her from interrupting. "Is there something wrong with it?"

She stared at him for a moment in confusion before swallowing her mouthful of food.

"What do you mean?"

He watched her carefully for a moment before deciding that she really didn't know and wasn't just being coy.

"Your back." He said again. "How does it feel?"

"Sore." She responded flatly, with a tone that suggested it was an incredibly stupid question. All things considered it probably was, but he was aiming at something a little deeper than that. He bit the inside of his cheek and briefly considered how best to say what he meant.

"Have you seen it?"

That got her. She stared at him blankly for a moment, and he knew then that she hadn't.

"It's discolored." He said, deciding not to wait for the response he'd already guessed. "And I'm worried that it might get infected if you're not careful. I'd like you to see the infirmary doctor just so he can check it out."

She looked for a moment like she was about to protest, but she was either too tired, knew he was right, or some combination of the two, and merely nodded once and got back to her food.

"I'll go tonight." She said between bites, and he relaxed slightly.

The next day he noted the commander looking oddly at him, though he dismissed it as a product of the usual animosity that colored their conversations due to their respective affiliations. It was only as they were leaving for the day that the commander said something as he was walking away that Hillshire at first wasn't even sure was meant for him to hear.

"She likes the bruises, but good job telling her to get them checked. Otherwise it's easy enough to let something minor turn into something worse when you're not looking."

It was at that moment that Hillshire truly began to realize that the training had not just been for Triela.


	9. Die For You

**6. Die for you**

Though the Handlers for the most part kept to themselves outside of work, every now and then they'd go out to a local bar and get drunk, and pretend for a few moments that their work didn't involve turning underage girls in enhanced government assassins.

There was no set schedule, though there was definitely a consensus that they'd only go out if something particularly bad happened. After all, few things were guaranteed to get you a write-up – or worse, a referral to the on-site shrink and a forced "vacation" – than developing an addiction that affected your performance. Hence, the outings to a local bar were reserved only for those times when they really needed the alcohol to take the edge off.

It also had the unfortunate side effect of loosening tongues, leading to some things being revealed that were probably best unsaid. Hillshire quickly learned that Giuseppe was particularly prone to letting things slip with a bit of alcohol in him, and most of what came out had the potential to be damaging in the wrong hands.

Issues of confidentiality aside, he had personally always made a point to keep a certain amount of distance between himself and the other Handlers, but when Giuseppe got like that Hillshire was honestly afraid to leave him alone at the risk of finding him in a ditch the next morning, so he would always grudgingly stick around and listen to Giuseppe until he passed out, which then necessitated that he be dragged back to his apartment a few blocks away.

Probably the most disturbing thing Giuseppe said had to do with the case of Elsa. It just wasn't what he'd said about what had really happened, but rather it was the suggestion that any one of the girls could simply chose to end her own life out of love that hit some nerve.

He'd never claimed to be particularly close to Triela, and preferred to think them as coworkers, but ever since that day he tended to take a second look at everything she did. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he could never shake the feeling that something else lurked behind her eyes, and that he could create another Elsa de Sica if he wasn't careful.


	10. I fell down some stairs

**17. 'I fell down some stairs'**

"Do you ever have trouble with Triela?" Giuseppe asked from out the blue as they were getting coffee.

Hillshire regarded him suspiciously before he gave his answer.

"Depends on what you mean by trouble," he said neutrally, reaching for the creamer. "If you mean disobeying orders, then no, but if you mean talking back to me about everything, yes."

Giuseppe shifted uncomfortably and began to pull at his tie.

"No, not like that. It's just that Henrietta hurt her foot somehow, and she won't tell me what happened."

"Do you think she got into a fight with one of the other girls?" Hillshire asked.

"That's the thing… I'm not sure." Giuseppe said nervously. "You know how she can get, especially if I'm involved."

Hillshire nodded.

"I'll ask Triela." He couldn't help but notice how Giuseppe suddenly looked that much more relieved at the offer.

"Thanks. I'd really appreciate it."

Later that day as they were at the firing range Hillshire did manage to ask Triela, making clear that it was Giuseppe who really needed to know the information.

"Oh, that." Triela said casually, chambering another round. "One of her shoelaces was untied, and she tripped while going up the stairs to the library a few nights ago."

"That's _it_?" Hillshire asked, suppressing the urge to burst out laughing.

She nodded and turned back to the target.

"Yup. I saw her do it myself. It was actually sort of cute, in a clumsy sort of way."

"But why won't she just tell Giuseppe that?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head as he remembered Giuseppe's nervous expression.

Triela glanced over at him and raised one eyebrow.

"Please. Even _we_ have our pride."


	11. Take it like a man

**4. Take it like a man**

Hillshire had never known­­ that getting shot hurt so much.

Perhaps it was because he'd seen Triela shrug off similar blows many times before but had never personally experienced it, so some part of him had rationalized that it simply wasn't that bad. What a delusion that had been.

Something moved in his periphery as several shots rang out loudly in the still night air. The unlucky terrorist who'd fired the wounding shot crumpled to the ground with a bullet in his head. Hillshire struggled to keep conscious as his vision swam.

"Son of a bitch!" he heard Triela hiss. "Goddamn coward..."

He almost laughed at the sheer irony of the situation. To anyone else the fact that he had taken the bullet would be perfectly natural, but to Triela it was an insult of the highest order. Just who was the protector and who the protected here, anyway?

He snapped out of that train of thought as she knelt in front of him and quickly pushed aside his coat to inspect the wound. Just by the look on her face he could tell two things: first, that it wasn't fatal, and second, that this was going to _hurt_.

"It's not too bad." She said, clearly for his benefit. "Backup shouldn't be too far away. Just hang in there."

He nodded quickly and squinted tightly, trying to force the air into his lungs. Passing out right now wouldn't do them any good right now.

"Alright." He managed to choke out before another spasm made him nearly double over in pain.

_Damn it._ He thought bitterly, only just managing to keep from passing out. _I thought I had better control over myself…_

Almost as soon as the thought had formed something pressed against his mouth. His eyes snapped open and took a moment focused before he realized what she was offering.

"Bite it." She said tersely, thrusting her gloved hand at him.

He stared up blankly, not understanding.

"Do it, before you pass out – or worse, bite through your tongue." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're of no use unconscious or choking on your own blood, so do it."

He was about to argue, but just then another spasm hit him like a punch to the gut, this time actually making him cry out. Without a moment's hesitation Triela forced the back of her hand into his open mouth, and before he had the opportunity to think twice he bit down hard as another spasm hit him in the gut.

Aside from a very slight narrowing of her eyes Triela did nothing. As the sound of heavy footsteps approached he felt his control slipping, though before he passed out completely he distinctly remembered hearing her call his name.


	12. Kiss it better

**Note: **Follow up to #4, "Take it like a man"

**18. Kiss it better**

Hillshire was aware of two things upon waking up, the first being that something was pressed against his hand, and the second being a splitting headache that was comparable to being hit by semi-truck, which was all the more aggravated by the sound of an ear-splitting voice from somewhere to his left.

"No, I _won't_ leave!"

Triela. Hillshire sighed and tried to fall back sleep, already feeling thoroughly exhausted by this brief excursion into wakefulness.

"Triela, be reasonable." That was Lorenzo, and judging by his tone of voice he was not happy. "They took him out of the ICU over five hours ago, and whether you're here or not he's going to be out for a while. And surely you don't want Claes to be alone."

"Claes can take care of herself." Triela retorted, squeezing his hand firmly. "My place is here. You know he would have – and _has_ – done the same for me."

Lorenzo took a breath as if in preparation to argue, but midway through he stopped and gave a great, heaving sigh that reminded Hillshire of an exhausted dog.

"Alright, but I expect you back at the Agency in the morning. No buts."

"Fine." Triela said grumpily, followed by a loud scraping as she scooted her chair closer to the bed. Hillshire kept his eyes shut firmly until Lorenzo had left, then cautiously opened one eye to take in his surroundings.

"So, how long have you been awake?" Triela said slyly, turning around to face him.

"Long enough." He murmured, reaching up to touch his forehead. "A better question is how _you_ could tell that I was awake."

"Breathing changed." Triela said blithely. Hillshire nodded, though he quickly found that even that small motion took more energy than he really had.

"Lorenzo was right, you know." He said tiredly. "You really _should_ go back to the Agency. I'll be fine here by myself."

"Oh come on!" Triela hissed, prompting him to look up in surprise. She turned around fully and looked him dead in the eye. "Were you paying attention _at all_ to what I just told him? The answer is no."

Hillshire almost laughed, but settled on a sigh as he closed his eyes again.

"Alright, I don't have the energy to argue with you right now. Just don't wear yourself out."

"Fine, fine, fine." She grumbled. "If it'll make you feel better I'll only stay for an hour. At least you're awake now. Oh, and one more thing," he heard her chair scrape against the floor as she moved it closer. "_Never_ scare me like that again, alright? You nearly gave me a heart attack back there."

He smiled and let his eyes close, making a mental note to get out of here as quickly as possible. He didn't want to worry her too much.


	13. Catscratches

**5. ****Catscratches**

Hillshire was hard-pressed not to burst into laughter when he saw Triela's face. He wasn't the type of person who took pleasure in another's suffering, so it wasn't so much the line of blood across the bridge of her nose that brought him so close to his composure but her expression, and she looked both peeved and embarrassed as she came in and sat down at the table in his office.

"What happened?" he asked once he'd gotten himself sufficiently under control and wasn't worried about bursting into laughter.

Triela wrinkled her nose. "A scuffle."

"I can see that. With whom?" he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her side of it. She glared at him and pulled a tissue out of the box on the table, which she held to her nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Pussycat," she said, her voice slightly muffled by the tissue.

Hillshire was glad that he hadn't been drinking anything, or he probably would have choked on it. He nodded and continued to watch her in case she said anything else.

"They're not supposed to do that, are they?" she looked up at him and frowned.

"Do what?"

"Bite your nose," she pulled the tissue back for a moment to check how much blood was in it, and then quickly put it back. "That's not normal, is it?"

"What type of cat was it?" he asked.

"Just one of the strays from around here. I saw it by the wall out back. I was just trying to pet it, and it looked like it was enjoying it, but then it just leapt at me and bit my nose!"

Hillshire found himself thinking that it was a miracle that Triela hadn't done something like snap the animal's neck, but he knew her well enough to know that she'd never willingly do something like that.

"Some strays are like that," he said after a few moments. "They've been on their own so long that they don't know affection when they see it, and mistake it for someone wanting to hurt them. It's just how things are sometimes."

She sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"If that's true, it's too bad." She looked up at him, and Hillshire once again found himself thinking that the eyes that stared back at him were not a small girl's. "But even if it bit me, at least I tried."


	14. Let Me See Your Scars

**22. Let me see your scars**

There was an unspoken rule between them that Triela never ask about his life before the Agency, though he could tell she was curious. Given how smart she was she had probably pieced together bits and pieces, but hopefully would never know the real story, especially the parts relating to her.

He wondered sometimes if she knew more about her own life that she let on. Dreams aside, she knew about being found in Amsterdam, and had probably managed to figure out that she'd probably been involved in a snuff circuit. He always prayed that the actual memories would remain confined to her subconscious, where they would hopefully do little to no damage as long as the conditioning held up.

But he always reminded himself the term the doctors used, "memory erasing", was itself a misnomer, as all the drug really did was re-file the memories somewhere else so that they were consciously inaccessible. The science behind conditioning was still in its infancy, and despite all the reassurances that she'd never remember there was always that slim, fraction-of-a-percent chance that she would if given just the right trigger.

What he hadn't been expecting was for something to trigger him. After she had fought Pinocchio the second time the way she looked afterwards hit too close to home. She hadn't been this beaten up since… well, since they'd first met.

When she'd woken up the next morning and come to him it had been just a little too much. All he could do then was take her in his arms and hold here there silently. He could only hope that she'd been too delirious with pain to remember that clearly, for he was always afraid that showing too much weakness around her would someday make him crack, and then he'd be useless to her.

He had no way of knowing that under the stubbornness and sharp words she had the exact same fear, but for now they'd keep their scars and personal doubts hidden from each other.


	15. Sadomasochism

**7. Sadomasochism**

During the second fight with Pinocchio Triela knew that was going to be their last. One way or another, one or both of them was going to die at the other's hands.

There was so much adrenaline going through her body that she didn't even feel the last blow she landed on her. All she saw was her fingers going into his throat and ripping it out. Right before she lost consciousness she saw him hit the floor, and it was then that she knew he was dead.

It wouldn't be until much later that she would know that she'd also survived, and though she was at least happy to still be alive, it occurred to her later that the feeling of victory felt somewhat tainted. It wasn't so much that she felt bad about killing him, rather it was a sort of disappointment. They'd been evenly matched, and now in some way she realized that she'd miss the feeling of having someone to overcome and beat.

And maybe, she later thought to herself, something in her had _liked_ fighting that no-holds-barred beat down with him. He had been the first person to truly make her push herself past her conditioning and enhancements, but now she wasn't sure she had any reason to get any better, and that scared her. He'd opened up something new in her, but now that he was gone she wasn't sure she could go any farther. You could almost call it love, for she really owed him her strength in a sick, twisted sort of way, and she doubted she'd ever fine anyone quite like him again.

She decided not to think too hard about that part. The idea that any love could be like that scared her more than anything else she'd been through with Hillshire. And to be honest, she never wanted anyone – no matter how much they helped her – to replace her Handler's place in her heart, no matter how much it hurt to be with him sometimes.


End file.
